


Unholy Revelation

by the_oxfordcomma



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: I promise Jean will be ok, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Abuse, Sexual Content, but Jeremy makes all things better, dredging up issues in banquet halls, memories of Jean’s time in the nest, they’re not pretty, they’re really in love you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 10:16:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_oxfordcomma/pseuds/the_oxfordcomma
Summary: Jeremy didn’t see the approaching Ravens. He was chattering away with Kevin and Matt Boyd, dazzling grin still in place from an hour ago when he’d climbed the stage to accept the award on behalf of his team for the final time. Although everyone in the room had known the Trojans would win, Jeremy still lit up with pride at the announcement, eyes sparkling as he squeezed Jean’s hand under the table. Jean had squeezed back.Of course the Ravens would try and cast their shadow on the brightest thing in the room.





	Unholy Revelation

**Author's Note:**

> I promised y’all one day I’d have something with real content warnings so here we are. Nothing that’s negative is explicit, but you’ve been warned. Takes place two years after AFTG ends, Jean and Jeremy’s final year at USC. This concept’s been bothering me for a while and I needed to release it somewhere. I promise this will all end ok. Any errant freshman Fox names are from “Lessons in Cartography”, but Darren Roose is unfortunately all mine.

Jean felt the ambush coming before he saw it. It was like a sixth sense, a prickle on the back of his neck, a shiver down his spine. Merely a shadow of its former intensity, of course, but still there underneath the warmth of the room and the clink of champagne glasses and the cheery pop music. A glance over his shoulder confirmed his suspicions; Darren Roose was leading the Ravens across the room, their ever-present formation parting the crowd like an oil spill. Jean judged their trajectory from his place on the side of the ballroom. They were headed straight for Jeremy.

Jean was not in the mood for a showdown. He supposed it was inevitable that any event in which the Foxes and the Ravens were both in attendance would be less than smooth. The organizers of the annual gala were probably incredibly grateful that many of their “drama magnets”, as Alvarez called them, were graduating in only a few weeks. (Jean himself was included in that list, as were Darren and Kevin.) In the minds of the ERC, all they had to do was present the Trojans with the Day Spirit Award once again and keep the Foxes and the Ravens on opposite sides of the room for a few hours. After that, they could let out a long sigh of relief and be secure in the knowledge that Neil Josten probably wouldn’t start a fight with the remaining players. Last year’s annual conflict had involved the usual suspects, and so the Trojans had been able to stay on the periphery and continue to enjoy the fact that they had once again won the award. But Darren was leading the pack now with a twisted kind of smirk on his face. It was clearly the Trojans’ turn to be involved.

Jeremy didn’t see the approaching Ravens. He was chattering away with Kevin and Matt Boyd, dazzling grin still in place from an hour ago when he’d climbed the stage to accept the award on behalf of his team for the final time. Although everyone in the room had known the Trojans would win, Jeremy still lit up with pride at the announcement, eyes sparkling as he squeezed Jean’s hand under the table. Jean had squeezed back.

Of course the Ravens would try and cast their shadow on the brightest thing in the room.

Matt noticed the Ravens over Jeremy’s shoulder. Jean watched him exchange a few tense words with Kevin, and then Jeremy turned to intercept Darren and the Ravens. Jeremy’s smile dropped, and a bolt of anger shot through Jean’s chest, hot and sharp. Only a handful of people might know how Jean really felt about Jeremy, but he’d be damned if he let anyone ruin this night for him without putting up a fight.

He reached Jeremy’s side and stood an inch or two in front of him, just as Darren came within spitting range.

“Fuck off, Roose.” Jean made his tone sound flat and bored. It only served the Raven captain right to know how truly unimpressive he was.

Jeremy pressed a hand between Jean’s shoulder blades, but Jean didn’t look at him.

Darren tried to affect a haughty look, which didn’t fit well over his features. He had been the Ravens’ captain for two years now, and his Riko impression had deteriorated, but that didn’t stop him from pulling it out in public any chance he got.

“I can’t say congratulations to the winning captain?” he asked. Sly, arrogant.

“Not a chance in hell.” Jean cut off whatever platitude Jeremy had been about to say. He had no time for this bullshit, though he doubted Darren would simply let it go at that. It would have been relatively simple to let Jeremy diffuse the situation under normal circumstances, let him plaster on the fake version of his smile and politely entertain whatever Darren had to say before making an excuse to leave. Jeremy’s first priority would be to get Jean out of there. But Darren didn’t look interested in diplomacy, and Jean had probably just shot that possibility to hell anyway.

Darren’s mask slipped, showing a poisonous expression through the cracks. He shifted his weight, which must have been a sign to the Ravens, because they began to shift too. Jean didn’t need to look away from Darren’s eyes to know that they were surrounding him. He remembered when he had been part of such a circle. His muscles still knew the motions. They had been easy once, like breathing, letting the current take you. He could feel Jeremy and the two Foxes step closer at his back.

Darren leveled a glare at Jean.

“Get out of my way, Moreau,” he growled.

Jean raised an eyebrow. “Or what?”

Jean expected Darren to bluster at this, possibly throw a punch. Maybe make some blatant threat about kicking ass on the court. The Ravens had sunk to the lowest position in their history this season, and he figured Darren was itching for a fight, something masculine and visceral to end his college career with some kind of bang.

But Darren didn’t do any of these things. As Jean watched, stone-faced, Darren crossed his arms and melted his expression into something ugly. It wasn’t a blunt force trauma kind of anger, the kind Jean had come to recognize as belonging to his former teammate. It was a look that spoke of a very different kind of violence.

“Oh,” Darren sneered, “you know exactly what I can do to you.”

Darren’s words struck a match, and Jean’s insides caught like wildfire, burning up all the oxygen in his lungs. It was the most perfect moment of understanding he had ever shared with Darren Roose. The suggestion hung in the air, as stark as the lines that still marred Jean’s cheek. Yes, Jean knew exactly what Darren could do. He knew, because he had done it before, in the dark under Evermore and with cold eyes watching. Darren had not been the first or the last Raven who had invaded Jean’s bed on Riko’s orders, but he had been the only one who never hesitated. Darren Roose was one of the only men alive who knew how it felt to make Jean scream in pain and beg for mercy, instead of just hearing it through a wall. His threat was detailed and specific, and in that silence, Jean heard him loud and clear. On a detached kind of level, he was impressed at his nerve. The smirk on Darren’s face said that he had already won, that he was in command of precisely the right tools to reduce Jean to nothing. It was too familiar. And still didn’t belong on his face. He had no weapons, and not enough nerve left to use them if he did. He was a fraud, and somehow this made Jean’s blood boil so hot it felt like it was evaporating. Seconds ticked by as Jean’s anger simmered into a calm deadly enough to burn Darren alive.

“I remember.” Jean didn’t register a moment when he permitted himself to speak. His feet pulled him towards the Raven captain. “And you may still be that spineless bastard who raped me in an underground dorm room, but I am not that boy anymore.”

Jean heard a sharp intake of breath behind him, and Jeremy’s hand disappeared from his back. Darren’s eyes blew wide with shock, but his hands dropped to fists at his side. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jean didn’t let him. He felt his hatred bubble from the inside out and let the memory of Darren’s hands on his body fan the flames. Darren had opened the box. Jean was about to show him what had been reborn under the lid while he wasn’t looking.

“There’s a lot of press at this event, Darren.” They were inches apart now. Jean heard the sharp lilt of his own voice and barely recognized it. “They’re here to cover the award, I’m sure, but I bet you they would really enjoy a little tale I could tell about the king’s successor. Maybe you know how it goes. I would not be so quick to tout my… _accomplishments_ , if I were you.”

Darren seethed. “I’ll rip your fucking head off—“

“No,” Jean said. “You will back the fuck up from my team and my friends, and you won’t bother them again. You’ll do this right now, or I will make you. And then I will ruin you, you cowardly piece of shit.”

He barely had time to draw breath before Darren came for his throat, but Matt was faster. Before Darren could do more than scratch at Jean’s windpipe, the Foxes’ backliner was shoving himself in front of Jean, pushing him away from danger. Jeremy stepped into the new gap. Jean couldn’t see his expression, but several Ravens staggered, and Darren froze. The area erupted in motion as players scattered before a smattering of coaches and other Foxes eager to get between the Ravens and Matt. Wymack was, unsurprisingly, the first on the scene. Jean could feel strong hands pulling him further back, holding him steady, but he stared at Darren over Jeremy’s shoulder until he disappeared into the crowd again.

“Roose started it,” he heard Matt tell Wymack. The Foxes’ coach didn’t say anything, and turned back into the press of people who were pretending they weren’t watching. He was probably going to find Coach Rhemann. Jean wished he wouldn’t.

It was only then that he fully registered Matt beside him, hands still gripping his shoulders as he studied Jean’s face. As Foxes went, Jean didn’t usually devote a lot of brainpower to Matt Boyd, but he stared back at him now. There was a crease between his brows, and his jaw was set. It was the face of someone who knows better than to pity you. Jean was momentarily grateful for the existence of the Foxes.

“Not a word,” he told Matt, though he couldn’t imagine why he would need to.

Matt just nodded. He moved aside, allowing Jeremy to take his place. Jeremy’s fingers brushed against Jean’s own on his way to grip his arm, and Jean felt his muscles relax one by one like a ripple from the point of contact.

Jeremy’s smile was long gone. There was a part of Jean that felt very cheated at that, and his anger flared up in a childish kind of indignation at the thought that Darren had taken it away. Jeremy must have seen it on his face because he ran his thumb across Jean’s bicep, only a half-inch back and forth, not enough for anyone to see, but enough for Jean to know he was doing it. From the look on his face, he clearly wanted to do something more powerful than that tiny motion, but the moment was fragile enough as it was. Jean watched as Jeremy’s eyes flicked over his face as if trying to find an answer there. He clenched his hands into fists to keep them from shaking, and managed to keep his expression as neutral as possible. But Jeremy knew every mask in Jean’s arsenal by now. Once, that would have been terrifying.

“Let’s go,” Jeremy said, as quietly as he could to still be heard over the music.

It was so unfair. This was Jeremy’s night. He should be flitting like a tie-wearing butterfly among players and coaches and reporters, spreading warmth with the infectious pull of his smile as he went. He should be drinking slightly too much champagne and laughing with Laila and dancing with Alvarez, maybe pulling Jean into an unused social hall to kiss him where no one could see. But instead he was looking over his shoulder to make sure that Jean was following him out into the hallway, ready to leave it all behind. There was no next time for this, but Jeremy didn’t seem to care. Jean’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. He turned to tell Jeremy to go back inside, to go enjoy himself for a little while longer, at least, when he felt a hand on his arm.

“Are you really going to tell the press?” Kevin hissed. Jeremy stopped and turned around, and Jean realized Kevin must have spoken in French.

“Why?” Jean snapped. “Afraid I’ll say something about you?”

Kevin’s eyebrows shot up into his hair. “Me?!”

“Sorry to bring up things you’d rather forget.” Jean knew that wasn’t exactly fair. Kevin was not as bad as Darren, not by a long shot. Kevin may have allowed a lot of things to happen, but he had never hurt Jean. Not physically, anyway. Jean wasn’t in the mood to care, though. He’d probably just saved Kevin from an ambush of his own. He didn’t owe him any favors right now.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Kevin was shouting now. If Jean had taken a moment to really study his face, he would have read the earnestness in his features, the genuine confusion. As it was, he only heard confrontation.

“What, Kevin?” Jean spat, letting venom leach into his voice. “You think I got down on my knees for you because I fucking _wanted_ to?”

Kevin staggered like he’d been slapped. Jean watched, surprised into stillness, as all the blood drained from Kevin’s face. His expression cycled through betrayal, confusion, disbelief, and a sick kind of eureka before settling on abject horror. His eyes grew wide and brimming, his mouth parting in a futile attempt to make sound come out.

“ _Mon Dieu_ ,” Jean breathed. “You did, didn’t you?” This wasn’t happening to him. This wasn’t happening right now. It was unfathomable that Kevin couldn’t know, that he hadn’t even guessed.

There was something else brewing under Kevin’s expression now, something softer, but no less terrifying to look at. Jean tried not to notice. It was very familiar, the nauseating understanding that you’d been used.

“How could you possibly be that naive?”

It had been a few weeks after Thea had graduated. There were minimal Ravens left in the Nest over their meager summer break, and Kevin had withdrawn into himself. Riko couldn’t understand why, and no one was interested in Jean’s opinion. And Riko was bored. Or at least, that’s what he’d told Jean. It had been a choice, actually, or an ultimatum. Jean wasn’t really sure there was a difference with Riko. Damned if you did, destroyed if you didn’t. If Jean completed his mission and reported back, Riko wouldn’t let Darren in anymore. It was predictable, really, when Riko had chosen not to believe Jean’s findings at first, resorting to his usual methods to find out the truth of the encounter. He had effectively killed two birds with one stone with that one. But the facts had remained the same. Riko didn’t order a second test.

But it had been inevitable that he’d confront Kevin with what he knew, hadn’t it? That he would taunt Kevin with the knowledge that Jean had been following orders, throw Kevin’s decision not to reject the advance back in his face, punish him for it, make him promise not to put their carefully constructed image at risk on pain of death. Just because Jean hadn’t seen it happen, didn’t mean Riko hadn’t cracked the whip behind closed doors. Why would he keep quiet about it? Why was Jean’s pain once again for nothing?

And why _hadn’t_ Kevin pushed him away? Why did he get to forget that Jean’s body, his will, his very soul, wasn’t his own? Why was _he_ allowed to remain in the dark?

Jean didn’t have time for this. He was not going down this road. He had made his peace with the whole incident — one of the less painful, admittedly, and therefore easier to deal with — long ago. He had enough noise in his head from what Darren had said a few minutes ago. If he started any further down the spiral, it might take a long, long time for him to come back up. He was not responsible, nor was he at all in the mood to watch or talk Kevin through the breakdown he was currently having right before his eyes. Jean’s hotel room was ten floors above his head right now. All he had to do was get there. He started walking, and stopped short.

Neil Josten was standing only a few feet away. Jean would bet his entire exy career that he had heard everything. And if he’d heard, he’d understood, too. Jean never forgot about Neil’s fluency in French. There were probably very few secrets he didn’t know. Neil’s eyes gave away nothing. Jean let out an irritated breath through his nose. What did it matter, anyway?

Kevin closed a hand around his elbow. “Jean,” he pleaded. “I didn’t know. I swear to God I didn’t know.” Kevin’s gaze was magnetic, as much as Jean tried not to look. There was a brokenness about him that Jean had only seen a handful of times before. He knew the agony Kevin was feeling right now. It made something twist in Jean’s guts, seeing it reflected in someone else. Too bad Neil was going to be the only one around for him to talk to about it. Jean knew firsthand that he wasn’t very understanding about pain inflicted under Riko’s thumb.

“I believe you.” Jean ground it out through his teeth. “Let go.”

Kevin pulled his hand to his chest like Jean’s sleeve had burned it. He said nothing else.

There were several other Foxes in the hall: Andrew, Lizzy, Robin, Matt and Dan. Jean wondered suddenly what Dan was doing there, then remembered she coached the Columbia University exy team. She was Matt’s date. What an odd piece of trivia to remember. Jean didn’t know how much Neil would tell his teammates, but he was suddenly too tired to care. He wished for Renee with all his heart.

“I’m leaving,” he told Jeremy.

“I’m coming with you,” Jeremy replied.

Jean didn’t have the strength to argue with him. He pressed the button for the elevator and didn’t look back at Kevin. He was afraid that if he did, whatever was breaking in Kevin would crack in him, too. And he had just put it back together.

Jeremy didn’t say anything on the way upstairs. Jean knew that he was waiting. It was like that in the beginning too, sort of. Back then, Jeremy hadn’t overtly prodded Jean out of his shell, never flat-out asked him if he was okay, if he needed anything. He simply waited, and offered, and stuck around, and was himself. These days, though, Jeremy usually knew the answers to those questions without asking them out loud. He was definitely struggling with what he’d heard — was probably trying to determine whether he’d heard it correctly at all — but he was staying silent about it. He knew Jean would tell him what he needed to know when he was ready. Jean didn’t have anything close to the words that would express how grateful he was for that. He didn’t think he had the words for what he needed right now, either, or if he was okay. He wasn’t sure himself.

But as he watched Jeremy’s long, graceful fingers insert the key card into the door, he realized there wasn’t really anything he needed. It wasn’t about that. He had air in his lungs and his bones were all intact and he wasn’t starving or fainting from exhaustion or half-drowned on a downward facing board. In the strictest of senses, he _needed_ nothing.

He _wanted_ , though.

For an eternity, it was a foreign concept. It was about survival, breathing in and out for the next sixteen hours, the next month, the next five years. Priorities skewed to accommodate the danger, to keep the knife hanging by a thread above his head from slicing him clean open. But that had changed years ago now — Jean could hardly believe it had been that long — and he could let his mind wander to the things he wanted. And he was allowed to want them. He had the _right_ to want them.

He _wanted_ to kiss Jeremy. So he shut the door behind him, and did.

It was a chaste kiss, as kisses went, but Jeremy’s breath caught in his throat. Jean ran his thumbs over Jeremy’s cheekbones as softly as he could. Jeremy’s hands lifted to brush Jean’s sides under his suit jacket. It felt like coming home. It felt like not enough.

But Jeremy dropped his hands, taking a shaky half-step back. Jean watched the battle rage behind his eyes. If he had any doubt that Jeremy had heard his hissed words to Darren, his hesitation melted it away. Jeremy knew the work and time it had taken for Jean to mentally crawl out of Evermore. He wouldn’t touch a hair on Jean’s head till he was sure it wouldn’t shatter him.

Facing down this part of Jean’s past might have been devastating last year, or the year before, but Jeremy had long since fused Jean’s jagged fragments with the force of his determination and baked them in the warmth of California, and he wouldn’t be broken so easily again. Especially not by Jeremy. Jean took Jeremy’s hands in his own and pressed his lips to one wrist, then the other, feeling Jeremy’s pulse racing there. Jeremy looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, questioning. He was confused, but he would throw himself wholeheartedly into whatever he was about to do next. It was such a Jeremy expression that it was all Jean could do to speak instead of kissing him again.

“I want…“ Jean began. _To feel your skin under my hands. To kiss that spot under your jaw that makes you moan every time. To taste the champagne you’ve been drinking downstairs. To feel how strong you are as you wrap your arms around me. To gasp your name when I come._ Those few syllables tasted like freedom, and felt like an act of rebellion.

“Anything,” Jeremy whispered. There was an incredible amount of strength in the quiet timbre of his voice. Jean’s heart thudded in his chest.

“I want you, Jer.” He said the nickname differently from everyone else. _J_ soft and _r_ curled around his tongue, so it sounded like _cher_. _Mon cher_. His Jeremy.

The corners of Jeremy’s mouth tilted up in a smile. The small one. The private one. The one reserved just for Jean. Jean belonged to him, too.

“You can have that,” Jeremy said.

Jean didn’t need telling twice. He cradled Jeremy’s face in his hands and kissed him hard. Clearly words weren’t his strong suit today. This was just going to have to do. He slid his arms around Jeremy’s shoulders, holding him close. Jeremy’s hands were at his hips, pulling them forward till they were flush against one another. Jean wondered if Jeremy could feel his heart pounding through his shirt.

They stumbled towards one of the beds, losing shoes and socks and suit jackets and leaving Jeremy’s shirt open in the process. Jeremy broke off the kiss to sit down heavily on the mattress. Jean fell forward, and he braced himself above Jeremy, one knee digging into the white duvet as he tugged at his own tie. Jeremy simply looked at him, smile still playing over his face as he worked open the buttons of Jean’s shirt. Jean surged forward at the sight of it, catching Jeremy’s lips with his own again as he slid his tongue into his mouth, tasting that smile in all its glory. A hand sliding over his groin shocked an embarrassing noise out of him, one Jean only ever permitted Jeremy to hear. He rocked into the contact, chasing the feeling.

Then Jeremy was squirming away, scooting backwards to give Jean more room. Jean didn’t need any more room. Jeremy’s shirt was long gone by now, leaving Jean free to lick a firm line up his stomach. He pressed messy, open-mouthed kisses across Jeremy’s ribs, over his chest, up one side of his neck to drag his teeth over his earlobe. Jeremy shivered and let out a small groan of pleasure, reminding Jean of all the other sounds he could coax out of him. There was nothing and no one to stop him. He nipped at Jeremy’s throat, soothing the sting with his tongue.

He sucked a bruise into the side of his neck, then another, closer to his shoulder. Jeremy’s chest heaved underneath him, breath fluttering in and out under Jean’s mouth. He arched his neck to give Jean better access and Jean couldn’t help but grind down against him, desperate for friction. Jeremy only encouraged him by sliding his hands over his ass and bucked his hips upward. Jeremy could always counted upon to be eager. Jean found it indescribably hot.

He wanted to kiss Jeremy for days, slide his hands slowly over the planes of his body and run his tongue over his throat, but his cock was becoming increasingly hard in his dress pants, and Jeremy was still making that sound from deep in his chest.

Jean ghosted his fingers just above Jeremy’s belt, and Jeremy let out a pleased whine, tugging on Jean’s hair.

The clatter of belt buckles ended in two pairs of pants thrown off one side of the bed. Jean nosed the inside of Jeremy’s knee and brushed his lips up his thigh, more reverent than teasing. Jeremy groaned and bit his lip, fighting back the string of praises and sounds that usually drove Jean crazy. Tonight was different, careful, not thrown away lightly. Jeremy could see that, and Jean was happy to reward him for it.

He stopped what he was doing to tug Jeremy’s boxers down over his hips. He paused to stare for just a moment at Jeremy, at the toned lines and familiar curves of his body, the smattering of freckles over his shoulders and the scar where he’d had his appendix out when he was ten. Jeremy, totally naked and definitely hard and completely relaxed and spread out all golden before him like a cat in the sun. All that and still watching him with that serious look on his face, still trying to read him even when Jean was sure that his own body was shamelessly giving him away. Anything that had happened downstairs was irrelevant. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t touch him, couldn’t touch them, couldn’t touch Jeremy in his unwavering ability to take Jean’s breath away. No one could take it away.

“We don’t have any supplies,” Jeremy reminded him. There was definitely a note of disappointment in his voice.

Jean simply nodded.

Jeremy reached out a hand towards him, pulling him back in with a bruising kiss. Jean’s mouth felt like it was buzzing, lips chafed from rubbing across Jeremy’s cheeks. He reached a hand between their bodies and wrapped it around Jeremy’s cock, earning him a broken sigh of pleasure. He moved his hand in slow, deliberate strokes, pulling away from Jeremy’s mouth to sink down between his legs. Locking eyes with Jeremy, he pressed a kiss to his leaking tip. Jeremy bit his lip hard and closed his eyes.

Jean sank down further, taking as much of Jeremy into his mouth as he could, reveling in the delicate control the slide of his tongue produced. A long, breathy moan tore its way out of Jeremy’s chest, and his muscled stomach shuddered under Jean’s arm. His fingers tangled themselves in Jean’s hair, tugging almost painfully as Jean sped up his rhythm. He knew Jeremy was trying not to move, letting Jean be in control, but his hips stuttered anyway. Jean sucked harder, pushing his own erection into the sheets under him. Jeremy was breathing in uneven pants now.

“Fuck, Jean,” he gasped, and Jean felt it like a hot jolt straight to his groin. “Jean, I’m close. You should —“ He cut himself off before he could suggest anything, realizing he’d broken his self-imposed silence.

Jean pulled off of Jeremy’s cock and crawled back up his body. Jeremy pushed off Jean’s remaining clothes and took them both in his hand to jerk them off together. His grip was tight and perfect around Jean, building the fire in his gut to a fever pitch. He fought the urge to bury his face against Jeremy’s flushed skin, stifling a needy gasp as he held himself on shaking arms to stare into the perfect blue of Jeremy’s eyes. Jeremy tensed under him, coming in pale lines over his own chest with a strangled cry. His hand squeezed around Jean, sending him hurtling to the edge with a groan, pulled tight like a bowstring until he thought he might snap with the intensity of it. Light bloomed behind his eyelids as he came hard, gasping into Jeremy’s mouth. He pressed more kisses to Jeremy’s cheek, his jaw, his neck, anywhere he could reach, really. As he floated down from his high, Jeremy turned to bury his nose in Jean’s hair.

Jean eased his lower body onto the bed beside Jeremy, sliding his arms around Jeremy’s neck. He breathed in the scent of him, letting it overwhelm everything, and simply focused on getting oxygen in and out of his lungs and the way that Jeremy was slowly dragging the pads of his fingers across his shoulder blades. He was only dimly aware of what Jeremy’s other hand was doing, until he felt fabric brush his ribs. He propped himself on an elbow to have a look.

“Are you cleaning yourself off with my shirt?” he asked, a little mocking.

“Am I?” Jeremy lifted the shirt and squinted at it. “I thought it was mine.” He gave Jean an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. I think you fried my brain a little.”

“It’s fine,” Jean told him. “They both need to be dry-cleaned anyway.” He resumed his former position, hiding his grin where Jeremy couldn’t see it, but even he could hear it in his own voice.

Jeremy shifted, forcing Jean to move as well, flipping onto his side to look into Jean’s eyes. He was doing the studying thing again, trying to find the chink in Jean’s armor that needed mending. But Jean wasn’t currently wearing anything, figurative or otherwise. There weren’t any cracks to see. At least, not any Jeremy needed to worry about right now.

“ _Ça va_?” Jeremy whispered, just to make sure.

Jean nodded, turning his face into Jeremy’s palm where it stroked his cheek. Jeremy pulled him in and kissed him tenderly, lingering close so their noses brushed. Then he pulled Jean back into his arms.

They didn’t move or say anything for a long time. They slipped in and out of consciousness, dozing, not deep enough for dreams. Jean let Jeremy hold him, re-memorizing the feel of his shoulders and torso with his hands, following the hills and valleys of the sinew and bone that made Jeremy Jeremy. He felt calmer than he had in a long time, anchored and safe in a way he’d forgotten existed a couple of hours ago. The moments of his life that had haunted him earlier were far away, stopped at the gates of this perfect realm of time that he and Jeremy had created together. If Jean could only want one thing for the rest of his life, it would be this. They were alone, and there were no ghosts to haunt them.

Except for Alvarez, apparently, because Jeremy’s phone buzzed four times somewhere off behind Jean’s back. And twice again. And twice once more. Only Alvarez texted so many times in succession.

“We don’t have to get that,” Jeremy began, but Jean was already twisting to pull Jeremy’s pants off the floor. He fished out the phone, dropping it on Jeremy’s chest, and rubbed his eyes with the back of a hand while Jeremy squinted at the screen.

Jeremy was quiet for a moment too long, and Jean rolled his head to the side to look at him. He was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, staring at nothing. Jean knew how hard it was for Jeremy to keep his questions to a minimum right now; he wanted to know how to proceed given what Jean’s confrontation with Darren had revealed, and he didn’t know what Kevin and Jean had said to each other at all. He could only see the effect it had had on Jean. It wasn’t that Jean wanted to hide anything, it was just that some things didn’t merit unpacking again. It was over, and no one had to relive it.

“What?”

Jeremy blinked and smiled down at him. “Nothing. Nothing important, anyway.” He kissed Jean’s cheek. He was clearly deciding whether to bother Jean with whatever Alvarez had told him. Finally, he shrugged.

“She wants to go for pizza.”

“What?” It was not what Jean had been expecting him to say. “Now?” He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was after midnight.

“Yep.” Jeremy tapped his phone against his collar bone and grinned. “City that never sleeps, man. You can get pizza any time of the day or night.” The phone buzzed with another text. “She says…that Dan recommends one up by Columbia that has slices the size of your head. Koronet. They’re open till, like, three. She wants to know if we’re coming.”

Jean nodded against Jeremy’s shoulder, assessing that. He hadn’t been planning on moving for another fifty years at least, but it might be very entertaining to see Alvarez eat a piece of pizza that size.

“Is Dan actually coming with us?” He didn’t think he could look Matt in the eye right now. Maybe not for a while.

“Just us,” Jeremy assured him. “But we don’t have to.”

Jean was sure that was true, that Jeremy would be perfectly willing to stay put if that’s what it took to dissipate the damage, but the comment was a sure sign Jeremy wanted to go. Jean imagined his smile in the dingy glow of a subway car, under streetlights, reflected off a neon sign. He wanted to see that.

He turned to kiss Jeremy soundly on the mouth and rolled off the bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Well there you have it. Koronet is real and it’s on 111th and Broadway in New York City and they are open that late and the pizza slices really are that large. I don’t know if they cure years of abuse but they cure a lot of things. Simultaneous thank you and grrrrr to Jill for making me try to write smut. It was horribly awkward and I don’t think I’m ever doing it again. Thanks for reading! Come yell at me in the comments for making Jean and Kevin go through this. I deserve it.


End file.
